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Birthday parties

Oliver had a friend's birthday party today. We had a nice time.  Now I'm now emotionally drained. I feel really sad, angry, and resentful that I have to do these things alone now.  Every parent there today went alone, apart from the birthday boy's parents, but all the others would go home to that second adult to help them deal with the hyperactive sugar-fuelled small child.  I joked with a few of them that it was their turn this week, since there was another party last weekend, leaving unsaid the obvious point that I no longer get to take turns.  And the next time Oliver is the birthday boy? Well, I will be doing that alone too, on top of dealing with the emotion of his dad not seeing him turn six, and knowing we will be just a month away from the anniversary. I know I can't live my life always looking ahead to the next hard thing...... But I did not sign up for this. I miss being a team. I miss the man I married. I'm exhausted. I just want to scream. None of this i...
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What would I say to her?

A Facebook memory came up today, a picture of me at Christmas 14 years ago.  My first thought - wow she looks young was s quickly followed by the realisation that the picture pre dates the toughest decade of my life.  ' She ' isn't ' me '. She is untouched by grief and loss. She hasn't felt betrayal or abandonment. She is a newly wed with no idea that she will bury her baby and her husband before middle age.   I wondered what I would say to her if I could go back and visit her?  Would I tell her of the unspeakable grief she had ahead of her? No.  I would let her keep her innocence as long as she could.   I think I would tell her to believe in herself more because she is a warrior.  That life is short so seize every opportunity.  To make plans but hold them lightly because life so rarely goes to plan.  Talk to God more, lean on Him because He knows she's really going to need Him. To care less about what other people think of her. B...
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I wasn't expecting that

As I walked back from school with another mum this morning, the conversation turned as it so often does to my widowhood. She told me, as people so often do, that I'm so strong. Neither of us knew that less than an hour later I'd be crying in the car after dropping a donation off at a charity shop.   It was a practical, easy (or so I'd expected) job for this morning.  I'd done the hard bit of emptying and sorting the mountain of books and DVDs Mark kept on the bookcase I wanted moved to Oliver's play room. The ones I'd decided to donate were sat in three bags for life in the dining room, and needed to go this week ahead of the decorators coming on Monday.  I got to the shop, heaved in my three quite heavy bags and asked to leave a donation please.  The volunteer was obviously having a bad day because she just had a bad attitude.  I apologised that I needed the bags back please (they were the canvas kind, not the plastic ones, because, well they were full of ...
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